The Long Way Home
by BunBunBun
Summary: Stuck in heaven, Sam is desperate to find a way back to his brother. Finishing the trials might not have killed him per say, but with no one left to teach him, he does not know what to make of those freaky new powers, either. AU from 8.23, Angel!Sam
1. Week Zero

**The Long Way Home**

**Notes: **Finally! I've been meaning to start uploading this forever, and now the time has come at last!

I've always been a bit startled at how the whole trial business ended up doing so much more harm than good. At the very least, I expected all the energy Sam gathered throughout the trials to be good for _something_, like a special Angel power or something. Or, once the Trials would have been finished, it might have turned him into an Angel all along.

So, in the good old plot bunny manner, that idea wouldn't leave me alone until I started writing it down, which happened some months ago. That considered, it's not exactly in sync with more recent developments in the show, but considering it branches off at the end of season 8 anyway, don't let that bother you :)

In any case, this story's grown onto me quite a lot - and I hope you'll grow to like it, too :)

* * *

**Setting:** AU from 8.23, Alternative Season 9

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.

* * *

**Part One: The Long Way Home**

**WEEK ZERO**

_NOW, with Sam_

"I don't think I can go on without you, Sammy."

As the car hit another bump in the road, the younger Winchester shifted in his seat before adjusting the jacket his head was resting against to shield his eyes from the bright morning sun.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," he assured his brother in a tired, muffled mumble, "Just wake me again when you want me to drive."

Dozing off again, he vaguely realized Dean had probably awoken him for that reason in the first place. Then again, he doubted he was up for driving anyway.

He felt exhausted enough to sleep for days.

On that notion, if Dean let him, he probably would.

* * *

"Sam, can you hear me?"

Blinking tiredly, Sam noticed the his body rocking along slightly on the bumpy road even before he opened his eyes.

So they were still driving, huh?

Yawning, he stretched his arms and legs as far as the relative comfort of the Impala allowed it. "Dude," he commented slowly, squinting at an annoyingly bright spot within the darkening landscape outside, "did you even take a break?"

Given the fact his brother had on occasion spent up to twenty hours straight simply driving, the casual shrug Sam received in response came as no surprise - the strained expression on Dean's face, however, was certainly disconcerting enough for him to bother waking up at last.

"Listen," Dean went on and turned his eyes back on the road, "I know I've been promising all kinds of stuff lately without any plans whatsoever." He grimaced unhappily. "But I'm working on it, okay?" he went on with his voice so close to breaking, "I'll find a way, so just wait, all right?"

Inhaling deeply, Sam failed to follow. "What are you talking about?" he asked slowly, straightening in his seat to see his brother's face better.

"The trials, Sammy," Dean offered tonelessly, "They messed you up pretty badly."

Opening his mouth, Sam could not bring himself to say it. "I'll be fine, Dean," he assured his brother gently, "after all, you're with me, aren't you?"

At the very least, that got a brief yet fond smile out of his brother. For a while, they sat in relative silence, snacking chicken wings and listening to AC/DC as they drove into the night. As every so often, Dean began humming along eventually.

Glancing over, Sam could not help smiling. This was so much like the many precious moments they had shared in the past, and even though he had refused to acknowledge it back then he enjoyed every second of it now. No matter what, they would just keep on driving - keep on fighting.

And yet, staring at his own, pale reflection in the mirror, Sam could not get rid of the feeling he had stopped fighting at some point.

There was no way he could have recovered that quickly.

There was no way they would be driving to Bobby's of all places.

And yet, Sam caught sight of a familiar salvage yard mere minutes later.

It looked exactly as he remembered it had... before their friend's house had burned down more than a year ago.

Closing his eyes, Sam leant back against the passenger seat.

No matter what his brother might be saying, the last trial must have killed him after all.

This was exactly what he expected his own heaven to be like.

* * *

_FOUR DAYS AGO, with Dean_

He could care less about the speed limit. He could care less about parking the Impala properly.

All that mattered was Sammy, and if he couldn't get to him in time...finishing the trials would kill him.

Tumbling out of the car, Dean made a mad dash towards the chapel.

Why hadn't he thought of it before?

Why hadn't he realized the very real risk of losing his brother rather than watching him hurt due to this entire ordeal?

Nothing, not even closing the Gates of Hell, was worth losing Sammy over it.

And if it was too late...

"Sam!" Kicking the door open, he felt pure ice running down his spine. Nearly out-droned by Crowley's pained wails, Sam was chanting what Dean feared to be the final words of the spell. "Sam!" he called out again, desperate.

Finally, he saw his baby brother's head turn around, unfocused eyes wide in either disbelief...or pain.

As Crowley collapsed on the spot, an excruciating second of silence passed before Sam even as much as recognized his brother.

"Dean?" Sam asked incredulously. His voice sounded as hoarse and broken as he looked, yet he was smiling at least. "It's done, Dean," he whispered softly and staggered slightly, "It's over."

Closing the distance in few hasty strides, Dean was at his brother's side in an instant. "Sammy," he croaked, barely even trusting his voice, "how are you feeling?"

Meeting his brother's eyes, Sam just smiled weakly. "I could be worse," he whispered and rested his forehead against his brother's shoulder.

Dean flinched when he sensed the sheer heat produced by the energy that was running through Sam's veins. Catching him in a tight hug, he felt more and more of his brother's weight resting on him, and it terrified him. "You did great, Sammy," he whispered and tightened his grip. He was trying hard to keep it together, but the truth was...

He was too late.

He had not managed keeping his brother from finishing the final trial. As a result... Sam was burning from the inside.

Easing them both to the ground when Sam's legs refused to support him at last, Dean stroked his brother's hair gently. "I'm sorry, Sammy," he whispered.

He did not even care that they had succeeded - that the reddening sky introduced the Gates of Hell falling shut.

He did not care that countless shooting stars meant that something must have happened in Heaven.

He was losing his brother, and he did not even find any words to comfort him. Just as the ground beneath their feet started shaking, Sam was fading so very quickly.

All too soon, his body started trembling in Dean's arms. "If I'd known," Dean tried again, fighting his tears in vain, "I'd never have let you take those trials."

Inhaling shakily, Sam held on to his brother like a life line. "You think I'm dying?" he cackled and leant back to send Dean a lopsided grin. "I feel like shit, but it's not that bad," he whispered as his expression softened, "I can't leave you alone again, can I?"

"Damn right," Dean agreed grimly. But he could not be fooled. After all, Sam only noticed in that moment, and with a soft, powerless gasp, that it was no longer only his forearms that were glowing dangerously.

A fit of coughs and a painful spasm later, understanding dawned upon him at last. "Dean," he rasped, his expression one of sheer terror. Shrinking away in agony, his clutched his head tightly and went entirely still as he coughed out one final plea, "Wait for me."

His voice broke just as Dean's heart did.

"Of course I will," the older Winchester promised weakly and reached out to offer his brother what little comfort he could.

Suddenly, and far too soon, a deafening, high-pitched noise split the silence and shattered the windows. Sam's head flew up in a silent scream and... any life left in him burned its way out of his body with blinding intensity.

Having no choice but to watch helplessly, Dean felt that it should have been himself burning.

Finally, what little was left of Sam slumped to the ground, hurt and motionless. With much of his skin torched off, there was little to hope for.

And yet...

Dean's heart leapt up when he realized that in spite of all that Sam was still breathing.

Gathering his brother's limp body in his arms once again, Dean whispered, "Don't you worry, I'll get you back in shape in no time."

A single tear rolled down his cheek as he pulled him closer.

"I don't think I can go on without you, Sammy."

- Week Zero: End -


	2. Week One

Notes: Some of you might recognize the first bit of Dean's dream from another story of mine, but as a matter of fact, it was here first :) (it's kinda intruiging to see it in those two very different contexts, though)

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**WEEK ONE**

_Now, with Dean_

"There you go, handsome." Handing Dean a glass of whiskey, the gorgeous blonde in a bunny outfit blew him a kiss. Raising the glass to her, he sent her his most charming smile. "This one's to you, Sheryl," he hummed and took a sip before returning his attention to the brunette bunny right in front of him. "And this one," he whispered and pointed at himself with a sly grin, "is to you, Cherry." Tilting her head seductively, she accepted his hands on her waist with a soft murmur. "How would you like your lap dance today, Dean?" she purred into his ear.

Chuckling quietly, Dean pulled her closer. "Surprise me," he murmured and was pleased to find her grinning back knowingly. "You're right, Dean-o," she whispered at a low voice, "It is time for your surprise, isn't it?"

He arched an eyebrow as she eased herself onto his lap, offering him a brilliant view of both her cleavage and the enormous cake four further bunnies where wheeling into the club. "Oh, I like where this is going," Dean grinned in anticipation as the music grew louder.

After all, he was dreaming.

And this was the part where one of his favourite Casa Erotica stars joined the party.

Slowly but surely, the music reached its crescendo.

Dean leant forward.

The spotlight was focused solely on the cake.

Dean licked his lips.

At long last, the lid of the cake sprung open with glitter and confetti.

Dean's jaw dropped.

Sparkling amidst the colourful spotlight, clad in a sleeveless Chippendale-esque outfit and looking absolutely nonplussed stood none other than...Sammy. Glancing down on himself and then back to his brother, he chuckled in disbelief. "Seriously, Dean?"

His eyes wide, the older Winchester failed to react for a long time.

_Sammy._

This was supposed to be a superficial, carefree dream.

_Sammy._

It had been five freaking days.

_Sammy._

Of course he was desperate enough to miss his brother's presence even in his most private dreams.

Brushing the stripper off his lap, Dean got out of the armchair and approached his brother. "Dude," Sam commented good-naturedly when he finally managed stepping out of the cake, "I really don't wanna know whether I'm normally part of your..." Looking around, he arched an appreciative eyebrow. "...imaginative dream landscape."

Torn between relief and longing, Dean chose the easiest route and simply grinned back. "You think this is imaginative?" he joked as he came to a halt in front of his brother and waved around, "Just wait till you see the one with Angelina Jolie in it."

Still smiling in light bemusement, Sam tilted his head – rather than phrasing a snarky reply, though, he simply took the final step and pulled his brother into a tight hug. "I miss you, man," he admitted.

Inhaling shakily, Dean hugged his brother back more desperately than he cared to admit. "And I'd choose you over Angelina Jolie any time, Sammy."

It was a strange dream, that, but as he felt his brother's chest shaking in a silent chuckle, Dean could not help realizing...that he had been needing this. Badly.

He might never admit it out loud, but in that moment he was grateful his brother made no move to end their embrace any time soon. "I'm real, you know," Sam whispered at last and rested his chin on Dean's shoulder. "I promised I wouldn't leave you, right?" he spoke softly, "This is me, trying to find my way back to you."

Dean's eyes widened. "Sammy?" he rasped. Again, this Sam had spoken the words he needed to hear – that he was with him, that he was talking to him...that there was a chance he would eventually wake up from that coma against popular belief. Hell, nowadays Dean welcomed _any_ information that at least seemed to contradict the quacks' diagnosis.

Sam couldn't be dying. _He couldn't_.

But...that was just it, wasn't it? This was Dean's dream, and he was seeing a vision of his brother because he badly wanted to.

He had not even realized he had gotten this close to losing it again.

But as he stood there, in an imaginary club with bad lighting and cheesy music, hugging a funnily grotesque stripper version of his brother, he could not convince himself not to squeeze him a bit tighter in spite of all that.

By that point, any responsive version of Sam was fine with him. If that had to be a sparkly dream of a Chippendale, so be it.

All too soon, the magic was broken by Sam inhaling sharply. "Dean," he breathed with a strangled sound and stepped back at last, "This is annoyingly...hard to keep up."

He looked positively miserable all of a sudden, which in turn alerted Dean. "Sam?" he asked, confused. This was his dream – but this was not part of anything he would have come up with.

Or was it?

Was that the keyword he had been hoping for?

Could it be his subconsciousness had worked out something after all?

"What do you need me to do?" he urged.

Sam, however, did not answer right away. "You're with me right now, aren't you?" he prompted and cracked a soft smile, "At least, I can hear you all the time." He hesitated for a moment. "Is there any chance Cas is there as well?"

Grimacing, Dean shook his head. "The angels fell and Cas is gone," he summarized dryly, "I've been trying to call him dozens of times, but he doesn't answer."

Confusingly enough, Sam actually paled at that revelation. "Dean, this is bad," he rambled and ran a hand through his hair, "The final trial blew me up sky-high – literally." His eyes sought Dean's widening ones, looking for help as he had done so often before, "How am I supposed to get back to you when all the links are gone?"

Breathing deeply, Dean tried to uphold his composure.

So his brother had ended up in heaven...and could still somehow lie in a coma right next to him?

He was absolutely and royally screwed up to even come up with a theory like that.

But assuming he believed what his subconsciousness had cooked up, Sam was both dead and alive at the same time – which in itself was something he had never encountered in such a form before.

And it was a scary thought in any case.

But most importantly, the Sam staring at him with those large sad eyes in that very moment was neither entirely dead...nor entirely lost.

"Sammy," Dean finally found his voice again, "Never mind the angels. There's still at least one link left." He put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "We're standing here talking, aren't we?" He cracked a grin even though he had no idea what he was saying, "We can do that in the real world, too – once we find a way to haul you back over, that is."

Relieved at least, Sam smiled back tentatively. "I'll try, Dean," he promised.

A mere blink later, he was gone.

As the music grew louder once again and the bunny girls resumed dancing around him, Dean felt more satisfied than he had in days. Sam's soul, or mind, or whatever, having gone to heaven, was a wild guess, but it did offer an explanation for the injuries his body had undergone. As much as he hated to see it like that, if he had to compare what he had witnessed in that church, it had looked like Sam had been smitten. On the other hand, though, something bright had definitely left him rather than just burnt – it might have appeared like one of those freakish Angel spirits, but that could not be. So maybe it really had been his soul. Maybe souls looked like that, or at least trial-enhanced ones.

Maybe a part of Sam had been forced to Heaven.

He could not know.

In any case, it was a lead.

In any case, finding and confronting Cas was the most reasonable option.

In any case, Dean's new-found enthusiasm faded as quickly as it had come.

Whenever he had worked out plans like that within his dreams in the past, it had been some bastard of an Angel playing games with his mind.

But...what other choice did he have?

* * *

_THREE HOURS EARLIER, with Sam_

"So," Dean began conversationally as he put his legs on Bobby's table, "how've you been?"

Given the fact they were alone in the room, Sam gathered he was being addressed even though they had been together the entire time. "What do you mean?" he asked with a frown and put a bowl of popcorn on the table, gently but firmly shoving Dean's feet aside as he did so, "I'm fine, you know that."

Tilting his head, Dean downed his beer before opening three new bottles. "You don't look fine to me," he commented dryly and sighed. "I just wish you'd talk to me again," he stated flatly, "but I guess that's a bit too much to ask for, eh?" He chuckled humourlessly, yet he refused to meet his brother's gaze.

Sighing deeply, Sam sat down next to Dean. "Look, I'm just happy we're doing this again, okay?" he stated helplessly and motioned around the room, "We used to watch movies with Bobby all the time and now we can do that again at least."

Dean sent him a weary glance, yet humoured him at last. "I guess you're right, eh," he began and handed Sam a beer with a genuine yet strained smile, "Fight Club or Matrix?"

"Please, boys," Bobby complained as he placed the remaining snacks on the table and joined them at last, "Don't torture me with that cyber nonsense again."

Shrugging, Dean snatched the remote. "Never liked the Matrix all that much," he agreed, "so Fight Club it is."

They were halfway through the movie when the phone rang in the kitchen.

For a full minute, everybody simply looked in the ringing's general direction.

"Aren't you going to get that?" Sam asked Bobby slowly and stood up with a sigh when the older hunter stared at him as if he had grown another head. If one of their friends was in enough trouble to have one of Bobby's cover numbers called, someone should answer it. If that someone had to be Sam, so be it. He had pretended being a fed often enough.

Entering the kitchen, he found the offending phone quickly.

'Texas Rangers, huh?' Sam wondered vaguely, 'I didn't even realize he had such a number.' Shrugging it off, he picked up the receiver, "Hello? How can I help you?"

There was ragged breathing on the other end, but no words came for quite a while. "I've tried, you know?" the voice sobbed quietly, "I tried to be helpful."

Eyes widening, Sam recognized the voice at last. "Garth?"

Another sob confirmed his question. "I mean, I'm really happy you blasted those bastards back into the pit," Garth whispered flatly, "I just, you know, kinda hope you got the time to look for me now."

"Garth, where are you?" Sam demanded at once. But the connection had already died. After glaring at the receiver, he turned to the other person who had just entered the kitchen. "That was Garth, Bobby," he reported quickly, "We've got a problem."

Bobby, however, kept looking at him with the same doubtful expression he had worn previously. "We've got more than one problem, son," he began and approached Sam slowly, "I've been watching movies with you guys before, but I've never seen Fight Club." Hesitating briefly, he stared into Sam's eyes, "You're not just a part of my afterlife. You're really here, are you?"

Inhaling deeply, Sam did not know how to respond. "I'm pretty sure I'm dead," he admitted at last.

Closing his eyes in silent acknowledgement, Bobby nodded towards the living room, "Then Dean, too?"

Glancing through the doorway to where Dean was munching away on a steak, Sam grimaced slightly. "I hope not," he stated and corrected himself, shaking his head, "I _think_ not. He's with us all right, talking and joking, but he's not exactly responding."

"I noticed that," Bobby agreed quietly, "So what does that mean?"

"I think he's talking to me," Sam sighed, feeling even worse about it now that he had to actually phrase it, "that is, to whatever is left of me." It would not be the first time Dean had refused to give him a proper hunter's funeral. On top of that...hadn't Sam promised to return?

It had been clear as the day in that moment, but now he was no longer so sure.

How would he do that? Could he even do that? His heart clenched when he realized he would have to break yet another promise to his brother.

"Bobby," he stated in sudden urgency, "I need to tell him I'm here." He gulped and felt close to despair, "How do I talk to him?"

"Easy there," Bobby replied and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Dean's with us in some way, isn't he? That's our best shot."

"He doesn't hear me," Sam countered flatly.

Bobby sent him a sharp look at that, "Have you even tried?"

Breathing heavily, Sam tried to regain his composure. As usual, Bobby was right. The mere presence of a version of Dean that was neither his imagination nor the real thing meant there had to be some sort of a connection.

Maybe, just maybe, whatever was left of Sam's body wasn't even entirely dead yet. Maybe he was actually _hearing Dean_.

A treacherous spark of hope flared up within Sam's chest.

Maybe he could keep his promise after all.

"Dean!" he called out, storming back into the living room.

Only to find his brother fast asleep, drooling happily onto the armrest.

"This is as good a chance as any, son," Bobby offered with a shrug and passed Sam on his way to a nearby shelf, retrieving a vaguely familiar jar from it.

"African dream root!" Sam called out as he recognized it as last and could not help grinning in relief, "You're a genius, Bobby."

The older hunter simply cocked his head in response. "Just hope you don't end up in one of his _special_ dreams."

- Week One: End -

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_Notes:_ What is this I don't even- I have no idea how it got so late again. I can't zombie my way through tomorrow, so I guess the first two chapters will have to do for now even though I wanted to put up the first part in its entirety. Hopefully I'll get to the next two chapters tomorrow. If I'm not a zombie.

But if you already got around to reading this bit, please take a couple of seconds and let me somehow know whether you even want to read the rest. While I love writing fan fiction, polishing a story up for the interwebs is quite an arduous task to me, and for some reason it takes me forever. Apropos forever - five hours of sleep, if I'm lucky.

So for now: thank you for reading!


	3. Week Two (1)

Notes: Much love to KCS and mb64 for the lovely reviews and, of course, to anyone who followed this so far!

* * *

**WEEK TWO**

_Now, with Dean_

He had prayed to Cass.

He had called Kevin.

He had tried reaching Garth.

Heck, he had even attempted talking to the nutjob of a human that had once been Crowley.

But none of these approaches had gotten Dean any closer to finding Sam – to regaining his baby brother.

He still had not decided whether to trust his dream delusions, but he figured any help at all would be less useless than him just sitting around waiting.

He hated waiting.

When the bottle in his hand slipped out of his grasp and shattered on the ground for no apparent reason, he could finally take it no longer.

"It'll be alright, Sammy," he whispered, both to his brother and to himself.

Something had to happen.

But...nothing had worked so far, which really left him with only one final resort. Once again, he prayed for help – yet not just to Cas, but to any angel willing to make a deal.

What he got several hours later, though, was not quite what he had expected.

Standing in the doorway to Sam's hospital room, grinning from ear to ear with that goofy expression of his, was none other than the very self-proclaimed Bobby ersatz he had failed to reach earlier.

"Hey Dean," Garth proclaimed happily, "You called?"

* * *

_SIX HOURS EARLIER, with Sam_

Waking up from the bizarre porn show Dean insisted calling a dream, Sam inhaled deeply.

He had done it.

He had talked to Dean – he had reached him.

But as he slowly sat up and recognized a familiar living room, Sam's sudden enthusiasm clashed with reality.

He might have talked to Dean, but he had never left heaven.

Not truly.

"Sam?" he heard Bobby calling out to him as he appeared in the doorway. Yet the younger Winchester found himself in no condition to talk.

He had to find a way. He had to utilize the one connection still left – the one that connected him to his brother.

But first of all, he had to sort his scrambled thoughts.

So he was stuck in heaven without even being dead by definition.

So the angels had fallen. Did that include Cas, though? In any case, their feathered friend had gone AWOL, so they might not even find him for a while, let alone get him to help out with this.

Sighing deeply, Sam ran a hand through his hair.

So maybe this was the wrong approach to tackling it.

If this was a case like any other, what would they do about it? Naturally, they would try seeing the bigger picture. Someone must have triggered the fall of the angels – someone both powerful and knowledgeable enough. Someone who wanted heaven to himself.

Now, Sam did not feel all that affiliated with heaven – yet – but he was pretty sure he did not want hundreds of lost angels raging on Earth. Besides, they had been created to guard Heaven, hadn't they? That in turn meant there was something it had to be protected from in the first place.

One way or the other, whatever blockade or spell kept them out would have to be broken. So now if that was the ultimate goal, Sam had one advantage over all of them.

When it came to reconnaissance, he was on the right side of the veil already.

With a plan forming in his head, his heart felt much lighter already. "Axis Mundi," he breathed at last, ready to take on the world around him again. His eyes focused on his surroundings – on an old, well-used Bible resting on the table amidst half-eaten chicken wings, on an empty mattress lying innocently on the floor, on Bobby's eyes as he re-entered the room with a cup of coffee.

Confronted with the random outburst, Bobby raised his eyebrows. "The path through heaven?" he asked, "What's that got to do with your trip to Dreamland?"

Blinking, Sam simply stared back for a moment. Everything he had just gathered had made perfect sense in his head.

As to whether it still would when spoken out loud, well, he would find that out soon enough.

Throughout Sam's story, where he tactfully left out the part of himself jumping out of a cake, Bobby listened attentively. In the end, though, all he could do was shake his head. "So you get the news from downstairs and all of a sudden you feel like saving the world – again?" he exclaimed heatedly, "What are you, stupid?"

Frowning, Sam leant back. "I'm just trying to be practical," he stated flatly, "Even if there was nobody left on Earth we cared about, this concerns us just as much, dead or not. Somebody needs to look into this."

Though still shaking his head, Bobby gave in at last. "At least take it slow," he advised, "I understand you're jumping at the idea to be the new sheriff in town, but you still only just arrived and you're still just a man."

"But I can't exactly do anything aside from jumping Dean's dreams, and he is just as clueless as I am," Sam countered with a frown and looked around, "Speaking of him, where is he anyway?"

"Out for a walk," Bobby offered and nodded towards the door, "Still not exactly in the talking mood, though."

Nodding, Sam got up from the couch. "I'll get him," he announced and headed for the door with a weak smile, "Can't have our only connection to the land of the living running off, now can we?"

Bobby made no move to stop him, but he did not seem particularly pleased with the situation, either. "Take it easy, son," he warned, "One step at a time."

* * *

"Dean!" Sam called out several times, yet he never got an answer. Not that expected one, really. He only ever heard him talking when real-and-alive-Dean was addressing real-and-partly-alive-Sam.

For a while, Sam strode aimlessly through seemingly endless rows of junk without ever catching a glimpse of that familiar leather jacket. At least, though, he discovered a familiar, black splashboard and could not help smiling sadly. After the car crash that had basically cost Dean's life and John's soul, his older brother had repaired the Impala from scratch. He had left the most important details intact, but he had been forced to replace numerous parts nonetheless.

The splashboard lying in-between crash cars in front of Sam in that moment was just another remainder of all the difficult times they had gone through together. Their father's death, their screwed up, so called destinies, their trips to heaven, hell and purgatory...it had never been easy.

But they had always made it through any challenges because they had each other.

"So maybe I'm screwed up yet again," Sam breathed with a sad smile and turned his head to greet Dean striding in his general direction, "But I can still keep haunting you in your sleep, right?" He cracked a grin, but his brother did not seem all that amused.

"Sam, you're not going to like what I'm about to do now," Dean admitted grumpily and squeezed Sam's hand, "So if you just, you know, feel like getting up now, I'd really appreciate it." He smiled weakly.

Not for the first time that day, Sam's heart broke a little. Most likely, Dean had not even acknowledged their shared dream for what it was – an actual conversation rather than a feeble wish. He certainly seemed desperate enough.

Smiling fondly, Sam tried finding the right words, the right gesture to offer some sort of comfort.

But Dean's eyes had already travelled away - widening dramatically at something behind Sam's back. Whirling around, the younger Winchester was shocked to find himself facing something he had neither wanted nor expected in a place like this.

A man with a menacing visage and black eyes.

A demon.

_A demon in heaven._

Before Sam had even processed that information, the enemy was already charging at them; Before Sam's reflexes even considered kicking in, Dean had already shoved him against an old truck. "Hang in there, Sammy," he told his brother with a wink and charged at the demon.

With his breath knocked out of him, Sam spent a brief moment simply staring at the battle. For what it was worth, the image of his brother that refused communicating both ways was still just as helpful as the original when it came to anything but talking.

Chuckling at the irony, Sam got back to his feet.

All things considered, the real Dean was maybe just as bad with talking after all.

But none of that mattered in that moment – because this Dean was just as poorly armed as Sam himself, and you only got that far fighting a servant of hell with a utility knife. Grabbing a rusty metal rod from under the car he had landed against, Sam struck a new fracture into the attacker's skull just in time for his brother not to get his ear cut off.

But the demon, while momentarily stunned, managed grabbing Dean's jacket to pull him along in its fall. It might only be a low-level demon, but it was much stronger than anything they would have expected to meet here. Far too quickly, it attempted once again to plunge its knife into human flesh.

Panicking, Sam dropped the rod and did the only remaining option he could think of – he seized the demon's forehead and yanked it back.

He had not even expected it to work.

He had certainly not expected what happened.

Within half a second, the demon was burnt out from the inside.

"What the..." Dropping to his knees, Sam stared at his bare hands. "You've gotta be kidding me," he laughed tonelessly and sought his brother's eyes.

It all clicked together in one short moment, and yet...that couldn't be.

Being neither dead nor alive, entering Dean's dreams, hearing both his brother and Garth of all people talking to him, and lastly, but most obviously, smiting a demon.

There was only one reasonable explanation for this.

A high-pitched noise filled the air, shattering the windows of any car remains close enough.

Sam did not even notice himself hyperventilating until he suddenly felt Dean's hand on his shoulder. "It'll be alright, Sammy."

The noise died down.

"You think?" Sam drawled and forced himself to meet Dean's intent gaze in spite of his mind still troubled. No matter what else came tumbling down on him, his brother was here, with him in some sense at least. They would figure this out like they always had.

But much to his annoyance, Sam found his vision blurring. "Shit." Clenching his fists, he tried blinking away the sudden feebleness. He couldn't fall unconscious at a crucial time like this.

Not with what he had just found out.

"Screw it," he heard Dean grunting in the far distance, "So this goes to any angels with their ears on. I'm Dean Winchester, and I need your help."

* * *

For a long time, he heard mumbling and static and everything and nothing at the same time.

"Sam!"

Frankly, when he was shaken awake at last, Sam was not sure whether he had actually been unconscious at all.

"Boy, get a grip on yourself," Bobby urged as he eased him back on to the couch.

Blinking, Sam had to correct himself. _They _were easing him back on to the couch_._

Dean was there, too – well, his Dean, the Dean-that-wasn't-Dean, and apparently, they had dragged him back into the house in the meantime.

"Sam, since your brother insists on being Mr. Talkative," Bobby tried again, shaking Sam's shoulder to gain his drowsy attention, "you need to tell me what happened."

Sam blinked tiredly. "We killed a demon," he replied and looked up.

Bobby furrowed his brows. "A demon?"

Sam nodded. "What's a demon doing in Heaven?" he asked in confusion.

"I have no idea," Bobby replied grumpily, "At least it wasn't an angel. When I heard that noise, I was sure whoever rules Heaven now overheard our conversation earlier."

Sitting up at last, Sam heaved a heavy sigh. "Just a demon," he assured his friend and looked away, "and, well, Dean and me." He looked at his hands before meeting Bobby's inquiring gaze with a defeated expression.

"I've smitten it, Bobby," he admitted and slumped his shoulders, "And I don't think I just hear Dean when he's near my physical body. I hear him _praying_."

It took Bobby a long moment to stomach that new piece of information. "You're an angel?" he summarized at last, staring at Sam as if he'd grown another head.

...or, well, wings.

But the younger Winchester could only look back like a deer caught in the headlights. "I honestly don't know," he replied flatly, "It's not as if there's a welcoming letter or a manual or anything really. I only got all these insane indications."

On cue, the phone rang in the kitchen.

Sam and Bobby's eyes were still locked in an intense stare, but the older hunter gave in at last. "Let me say it like this," Bobby summarized, "You slayed a hellhound, freed a soul from hell and cured a demon, all in order to save humanity from the abominations of hell. That CV's more than worthy of a recruitment call to Heaven's army." He paused briefly and sent Sam a meaningful look. "So assuming that you somehow became an angel," he finished and nodded towards the kitchen, "You'd want to take that call, wouldn't you?"

Releasing a breath he had not even realized he had been holding, Sam got up and jogged towards the phones.

Texas Rangers' number again.

"Sam, Dean, can you maybe, you know, hurry a bit?" he heard a familiar voice whimpering into the receiver, "If you're still even alive, that is – or if you still even care."

"Garth?" Sam asked as soon as he found his voice, "Where are you?" This time, he did not just ask a question, though.

He put some mojo in it.

- Week Two: End -


	4. Week Two (2)

Note 1: In case you clicked on the newest chapter only: this is a simultaneous update of two chapters, so you might want to go to Chapter 3 first.

Note 2: This was written before the more recent Garth episode (though, again, anything is possible in AU land anyway |D )

* * *

**WEEK TWO (2)**

_Now, with Sam_

"Sam, man, you have no idea how good it is to speak to you - to anyone, really - but are you sure you even know what you're doing?"

_Shut up, Garth._

Even without his friend's voice whining in the back of his mind, it was hard enough to concentrate on anything as it was. His vision was blurred, his movement restricted and his hearing, well...

_"Please help me pass my exams tomorrow!"_

_"Don't let Mr. Cuddles die!"_

_"I really, really need to win the lottery!"_

Overwhelmed by the sheer amount of prayers flooding his mind, Sam felt the need to shield his ears.

"Isn't there some kind of spam filter at least?" he ground out bitterly and realized he had never actually managed covering his ears with his hands in the first place.

Blinking the haziness away, he finally saw the reason for that: his hands were being constrained by the same kind of black shackles that were holding his entire body down. On top of the aloof notion of his movement being restricted, though, there was another factor hindering his body from working properly.

Actually, it was a mild alarm that had been just out of his immediate perception all that time - a helpful reminder that his body was, in fact, dying. Strangely enough, though, he was feeling no real pain, not even when he finally concentrated on its source. Instead, it felt like an itch.

Sure enough, there was a stab wound in his abdomen that must have been bleeding happily for a couple of days.

How exactly had that happened again?

Trying to come up with a proper explanation, Sam searched his memories, but was distracted yet again.

_"I've never been particularly pious - heck, I haven't been to church since I was four. But if there really is some higher being out there, please help my daughter."_

_"How can life do that to me? What have I done wrong? Please give me a sign, anything, just so I know my whole existence hasn't been a total lie."_

Chuckling bitterly, Sam took vague notice of the shackles once again. At the very least, the spam filter seemed active now. That did not make those prayers any less distracting, though.

_"It's probably useless, right? To pray like that. But there's a monster in my house and if it gets to my little brother...Please, anyone, just help us. I'm supposed to look out for him."_

Inhaling sharply, Sam stared at the dirty ceiling on the dungeon he was in.

Brothers.

Dean.

_"Damn it,"_ the young voice from the last prayer sniffed angrily, _"No one's coming anyway. He needs me and I'm going in. So let it just kill both of us, you scumbags."_

Sam felt his breath hitching, and all of a sudden, he no longer saw a dark damp stone dungeon, but the ceiling of what looked like a teenage boy's bedroom. He noted vaguely he was no longer lying on a cold, hard surface but a comfortable bed instead. But he did not actually understand the situation until a loud gasp alerted him to another presence in the room.

Sitting up at last, his movement probably delayed due to his body's poor condition, he caught sight of a boy he instantly recognized as the one to pray earlier. Equipped with a baseball bat and fearful determination, the teenager had been about to storm out of the room before Sam had drawn his attention.

Before the boy could say anything, though, the hunter finally remembered the actual content of his prayer. Monsters, brothers, children to be saved. So maybe he felt strange and aloof and entirely out of place, but this was a situation he could handle.

This was his job.

"Where's the monster, kid?" he asked and stepped away from the bed.

The boy, however, only stared at him blankly.

Sam blinked. He realized he was swaying for some reason, but he was more confused by the fact a mere teenage boy had already grown as tall as him.

Worse yet, inching away from the intruder with the bat drawn defensively, the boy was absolutely mortified.

Shrugging, Sam heaved a sigh. At least the child was no longer blocking the door. "Wait here," he ordered at a confusingly high voice and scurried into the corridor. He was still hearing all kinds of prayers, and his entire perception was still way off, but he did manage perceiving shuffling noises from downstairs and quietly made his way there.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" a voice shouted throughout the house.

As he was standing just outside the room Sam's eyes widened.

The door that was yanked open a second later had him standing face to face with a scumbag all right, but...

"You're just human," Sam croaked in disbelief.

The so-called monster, meanwhile, had stumbled a step back and trained his gun at him. "What the hell," he hissed, "Where did you come from?!"

Sam, on the other hand, had more urgent matters to discuss. "You're a murderer, or a molester?" he asked incredulously and shook his head in disgust, "How can an ordinary human even sink that low?"

He heard the gun going off and noticed the bullet impacting on his skin. He did not particularly mind what little "pain" emanated from it though.

The gunned man, on the other hand, was more than stunned by Sam's lack of reaction. Then again, the latter merely needed a second to knock him out cold anyway, regardless of the fact he felt, once again, disturbingly scrawny and powerless.

After the murderer's body had hit the floor with a loud thump, a small head popped out from underneath the couch. Sam heaved a sigh of relief when he realized the small boy had not been harmed, physically at least. "Cuff him and call the police, will you?" he said and turned to go when the older brother quickly stormed past him and caught his charge in his arms.

As he was striding towards the door in alarmingly slow motion, Sam could not help smiling at the reunion.

Suddenly, though, he heard quick footfalls approaching him and found the older boy standing in front of him. "You really came to help, didn't you?" he began incredulously and took a deep breath, "Thank you."

Sam managed a weak smile, "You called, didn't you?"

The boy's eyes widened, as if he had only just realized it had actually been his prayer being answered. "I didn't realize you would look so scrawny..." he commented and lowered his gaze to Sam's torso, "and so bloody."

Following the boy's gaze, Sam found the fresh bullet wound in his chest bleeding profusely. On that notion, the older wound in his abdomen appeared to do the same. "I should probably fix that," he agreed slowly and wondered how to even accomplish something like that.

Not one but two gasps alerted him of the fact that somehow, that notion alone had gotten his body healed without him even realizing it.

How the hell had he done that? He had not even concentrated on it - it had just happened on a mere whim.

Was that how things were going to be now?

Everything still felt like a dream.

He was only abstractly aware of even being alive. It felt like playing some sort of video game - he had influence on the things around him, but he was never truly there.

_"Sam."_

It was only when he finally caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror that he remembered the reason for that.

The wounds might be gone, even the clothes might be repaired, but... Staring back at him was not his own reflection but that of a thin, bearded man he had grown to call a friend.

"You listening again?" Garth piped up in his mind, and Sam took a deep breath through lungs that were not his own.

That's right.

When Garth had called for help and Sam had found himself unable to save his friend any other way, they had agreed on the one option that _should_ work in any case.

Possession.

Sam would heal Garth and get him out of a prison that had been left abandoned due to the demons' departure. In return, he would get a tangible way to reach his brother, and as such his own body - in hopes of finding it still intact, that is.

"Are you sure you're alright?" one of the boys asked.

Shaken out of his reverie, Sam realized he still had no proper way of contacting Dean. "I need to use you phone," he announced.

* * *

_Now, with Dean_

When Garth had called back from an unknown number in Ohio, Dean had accepted that his friend had probably been on a case all that time. He would never openly admit it, but he had been relieved to find the goofy guy still alive.

When Garth crossed three states and appeared in Sam's hospital room mere friggin five minutes later, however, Dean realized his relief had been entirely unfounded.

The other hunter, standing in front of him with an expression of sheer happiness on his face, might still be breathing, but he could neither be entirely alive...nor entirely himself.

"Dean," Garth beamed as he stepped closer, ready to pull the older man into a hug, "You have no idea how good it is to see you."

When splashed with liquid, however, he shrunk back at once, tasting the clear substance with a disgusted grimace, "That's not holy water."

Cocking his head to the side, Dean kicked the door shut behind Garth and pressed him against it. "Holy oil," he corrected, pulled a lighter out of his pocket and held it just high enough to alert his not-friend of its presence, "I've been calling the God squad for help, but that doesn't mean I'll just sit by watching you hijacking a friend's body."

For a long moment, not-Garth seemed genuinely confused. "He needed help, Dean," he insisted, "He'd been tortured and left to die when he called out loud enough for me to hear him."

Dean's iron grip on the imposter's collar did not waver, but he could not keep his eyes from widening. Could that actually be true? For all he knew, Garth might as well have gone missing all that time ago because that bastard wearing his face had somehow convinced him to agree. But then again, considering the angels had fallen only several weeks later, a hunt gone awry was an equally plausible explanation.

In any case, Dean doubted his friend would be okay with an angel wearing his skin any longer that necessary.

Or at all.

"Assuming that's what happened," Dean began, intensifying his pressure for good measure, "he's fine now, isn't he? If you're interested in a deal with me, let him go."

Much to Dean's bemusement, not-Garth actually looked offended. No, strike that.

His eyes were glassy.

"Do you think I _like_ walking around like this? I'm freaking scrawny, man!" he asked incredulously, "I don't want to stay any second longer than necessary, but you need to listen to me for a -"

"If you want me to listen, you'll have another five minutes to switch bodies," Dean interrupted him heatedly and nodded towards the door. "This is a hospital, I'm sure you can find another vessel that needs to get stitched up from the inside."

After a long, incredulous glare, not-Garth slumped his shoulders in defeat. "Fine, I'll try," he agreed slowly and sent Dean another scathing look, "But don't you dare bitching to me about it." Dean did not even have the time to dwell on the angel's interesting choice of words as Garth's head flew up, his eyes glowing as the spirit streamed out of his mouth.

Catching his friend in his arms and easing him to the ground, Dean was relieved for a moment.

When the bright light that was the angel did not leave the room, however, a new fear gripped his heart.

Sammy.

_Fuck._

"Don't you dare."

In his urgency to free Garth, Dean had failed to phrase his threat properly. Given the fact he had summoned the angel for that reason in the first place, Sam was the perfect option.

But, even with his mind off-line, his soul still had to be somewhere, right? Sammy would not just agree to letting anything possess him, right?

The Angel seemed to have another idea. Accompanied by a loud static noise and shattering windows, its spirit grew stronger and stronger in intensity.

"Don't you dare possessing Sammy!" Dean called out once again, rushing over towards the bed. But he could no longer keep staring at his brother's frame. It was too bright, it was too loud, and before he knew it, he felt his own consciousness fading.

* * *

"Dean," he heard Sammy whisper. Leaning back to marvel at a brilliant display of fireworks, Dean realized he was reliving that one, perfect Fourth of July again. It was one of his favourite memories, but for some reason, Sam did not look quite as happy as he used to. "This is bad," Sammy, so young, so fragile, so close to tears, whispered as he stared at his hands.

Alerted, Dean followed his gaze, but he could not see anything wrong with them. "What's the matter, Sammy?"

"I don't feel anything," Sam stated and closed his eyes, "I mean, I have full control over my body and some weird kind of perception, but that's about it."

Frowning, Dean let his gaze wander from Sam's hands to his face.

It was no longer his brother's younger self sitting there, and Dean finally realized that his own mind must have returned to the What-if-Sammy-could-communicate-to-me scheme. "You're saying you're trapped in your body?" he asked slowly, "But you're awake inside? I mean, that's an improvement, right?"

Sam sent him a tired sideways glance. "I'm more awake than I'd like to be, Dean," he stated flatly and stared ahead again, "But you seem to be sleeping." A bitter laugh escaped from his lips, "That's just another thing. I don't even notice whether it's dreamland or reality down here."

"What are you saying?" Dean asked, confused, as he suddenly found Sam sitting up. He only noticed now that it sounded as if they had been resting on sheets rather than grass and that it even felt like that.

Finally, as Sam leant over and pulled him into a desperate hug, Dean realized he was being shaken awake.

He held on to his brother like a life line.

He had finally found him again.

"Sammy..."

If he awoke now, he would be gone.

Far too soon, the scenery changed into that of a hospital room he had learnt to hate the very first of many days he had spent there. Far too soon, Sammy would be gone, too.

But even when Dean's mind cleared up enough to feel the cold breeze entering through the broken windows, to see Garth still lying at the other end of the room, the warmth that was Sammy did not vanish.

Sammy was still there, hugging him tightly as they were sitting on the hospital bed.

He was still there - living, moving, _awake_.

"I might not be in one piece," he whispered into his brother's ear and tightened his grip, "But I came back for you, Dean."

- Week Two (2): End -

- Part 1: End -

* * *

Fun fact: Sam might have ended up possessing Becky rather than Garth. That would have been too awkward on far too many levels, though xD

In any case, Sam returning to Dean concludes the first part - they'll still have to get used to his new powers and figure out what to do with them in the first place, though :)

In other words...

"Once we find Cas, we'll do a huge feast," Dean suggested with a grin, "That sound all right to you?"

Hurrr.

The days are awfully short nowadays, so it might take me a while to get around to betaing and uploading the next part, but, of course, you can always speed up the process via some kind of feedback or life signs in general. I'd be really happy to know what you think so far :)

And, of course: Thank you all for reading!


	5. Week Three

Notes: Much love to everyone who favourited or followed this story, and especially to expectoligamentumarteriosum, Falchion and Taeriel for the great and inspiring reviews - they really made my day :)

* * *

Part Two: No one like you

**WEEK THREE**

_Now, with Dean_

The hospital room had gone eerily silent.

"Sammy?"

Several minutes had passed in absolute silence, and in holding on to what he hoped to be his brother, Dean found himself clinging to the illusion that maybe, just maybe, everything had gone better than expected.

That maybe, just maybe, this _was_ Sam in spite of everything.

"I would have told you in a dream, but you haven't slept since I found out," hopefully-Sam explained quietly as he pulled away at last, "I would have told you through Garth, but frankly, I'm not even surprised you kicked me out ASAP." He chuckled bitterly as he reached for his own face and began removing the bandages covering the better part of it. "Which leaves us with this," he finished his speech with a slight grimace, "I'm afraid now that I'm back in my body, I can no longer validate my identity to you, Dean."

"Your body?" Dean croaked hoarsely as his mind resumed working at last, "You're a fricking angel!" He knew he should be reaching for the Angel Blade resting on the night stand, that he should be trying to make sense of this screwed up mess, but he could not keep himself from watching his brother's arms, led by whoever, loosening layer after layer of bandages.

He could not keep himself from hoping to see something more alive than the burnt out eye-sockets he had known to be hidden underneath.

"Either angel or something like it, I really have no clue," not-Sam added dispassionately, "According to Bobby, my _CV's more than worthy of a recruitment call to Heaven's army_, but honestly?" Finally, the last layer fell, revealing two perfectly fine, brown eyes staring right back at Dean. "I have no idea what I'm even doing."

Unable to avert his eyes from a sight so dearly missed, Dean dared considering the possibility after all.

Sam as an angel.

He had never heard of a human becoming an angel before.

Then again, though, he doubted the Gates of Hell had been shut before, either.

More encouragingly, he could think of a couple of arguments that actually supported not-Sam's statements. He had chosen to – allegedly – help Garth of all people, because they owed him that much.

According to his earlier statement, he had sought out Bobby when in heaven, because they had always turned to him first when they still could.

Apparently, he had been the one to jump out Dean's birthday cake last night, because he had been trying desperately to contact him in any way.

Now, while all of these things might have been staged by some twisted, manipulative angel that had been doing enough research, Dean could not deny that what he had identified as sheer energy when it had burnt its way out of his brother's body that fateful night might as well have been his spirit.

An angel's spirit.

On top of that, he was having a hard time believing any of the bastard angels they had met so far might have been good enough actors to fake Sam's emotions quite as convincingly.

"Now you can keep moping around," he heard his brother's strained voice speaking and suddenly realized almost-Sam was having an equally hard time coping, "But you'll have to face the fact that you won't find a more human version of me anywhere, so you might as well get used to the fact that I'm now, you know..."

As almost-Sam trailed off uncomfortably, Dean finished the sentence with an arched eyebrow, "...feathered?"

Now, Dean had gathered a fair amount of arguments supporting the assumption that it actually was Sam's own spirit that had returned to his body, but none of them were foolproof enough to truly convince him.

Suddenly, however, he found himself at the receiving end of the epitome of a bitchface.

And he knew he had his brother back.

* * *

"You sure Garth is okay?"

With Dean's call for help still out to any angel in the vicinity, the reunited brothers had quickly agreed on leaving as soon as possible. That would call for everyone involved to be up and kicking, however.

While Dean had only lost his consciousness for mere minutes when Sam had fought his way back into his own body, Garth had yet to awake.

"I'm not sure, man," Sam replied unhappily as he crouched next to the unconscious hunter and checked his pulse, "I tried not to harm him, you know, but it's not like this kind of thing comes with a manual."

Furrowing his brows, Dean sat down at the table. "Maybe you just haven't found it yet?" he suggested warily, "I mean, Cas always makes it sound as if all relevant knowledge is automatically seared into an Angel's head, like some sort of instinct."

Meeting his brother's eyes briefly, Sam resumed frowning at Garth. "So I just try the mental violation thing he does and hope for the best?" he summarized sceptically, but still reached out to tap Garth's forehead lightly. When nothing happened, he leant back with an exasperated sigh. "We should just find Cas and get him to teach me," he groaned and ran a hand through his hair, "My instincts are telling me squat. In doing whatever I think I'm doing I actually don't quite know what I'm doing." He slumped his shoulders. "Considering what I should be able to do now, I might as well be juggling grenades."

On cue, they heard the mirror in the adjacent bathroom shattering, and Sam sighed yet again.

At least, though, Garth finally stirred again. "Juggle all you want," they heard him mumbling sleepily as he came to at last, "Just stop doing that in my head, will you?" Sitting up from his crumpled position on the floor, his eyes met Sam's and he cracked a lopsided grin in spite of the horrible headache he seemed to be having. "Thanks anyway, man," he said and pulled the younger Winchester in a hug.

Taken by surprise, Sam awkwardly patted the smaller man's back before pulling away. "You too," he spoke and hesitated, "Are you...alright now?"

"Now that you mention it," Garth replied uneasily and sent Sam a sheepish look, "Remember the bullet you-me took earlier?"

Eyes widening, Sam scanned his friend's appearance for any visible damage. "The wound's gone, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Garth nodded and grimaced, "But the bullet's not."

* * *

"So with Cas down on Earth, too," Dean mused with his eyes on the street, "you can theoretically find him, can't you?"

Staring at the sunset outside, Sam grimaced in response. "Maybe I could if I knew how," he explained with a shrug, "So far I've only been able to get to anyone after they've contacted me first."

At that, Dean arched an eyebrow. "Contacted you?" he prompted, "How?"

"Contact as in, well, talking to me even though I'm not there," Sam explained, avoiding one word very carefully, "like you did all the time."

"You were there the entire time," Dean countered.

"You know what I mean," Sam replied.

"No, I don't," Dean stated firmly, "Why would people talk to you without you there?" He furrowed his brows and added as an afterthought, "Unless they're raging fangirls of those stupid Supernatural books, that is."

"People do that once they're desperate enough," Garth piped up from the backseat, "He's talking about prayers, Dean."

Blinking, Dean stared at his brother to Garth and back. "You're listening to angel radio now?" he asked in disbelief and added more conversationally, "What's on?"

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. "I don't know," he brought out at last and messaged his temples, "There's voices everywhere, some louder than others, but most of them are just, well, prayers."

Tilting his head, Dean looked back at the road, "No news on Cas, either?"

Concentrating for another while, Sam gave up at last. "None as far as I can tell," he sighed, "We'll have to find him the traditional way."

"Well, thankfully, we're not too bad at that," Dean agreed grimly and stole another sideways glance, "But stay tuned just in case, okay?"

Sam shrugged dispassionately. "It's not as if I can just turn it off anyway," he stated and groaned all of a sudden, "Man, you have no idea how much people are _blogging_ in their freaking prayers."

Dean arched an eyebrow and grinned, "Tell me all the juicy details."

* * *

"We should have brought him to the bunker," Sam commented quietly as he waved after Garth vanishing within the relatively safe walls of his safe boat.

"Well, he did insist on going here," Dean countered as he strode back towards the Impala, "You got him patched up somehow, so I guess it's safe to say he'll be fine enough."

Sighing, Sam strode after his brother. "Still, we ought to check on him every once in a while," he insisted and lowered his gaze in guilt, "You should've heard him back there, man. He was counting on us, and we didn't even know."

Resting his hand on the hood of the car, Dean sent his brother a wary glance. "It's good you heard him, then, huh?" he replied at last and shook his head, "See, I don't mind checking up on him more often, but Sammy, he's a grown man and not our responsibility." He tapped the metal for good measure. "See, it's already enough work as it is looking after Kevin and, well,..." He trailed off, causing Sam to raise an eyebrow.

"Me?" the younger Winchester offered helpfully.

Their eyes met, but Dean did not get himself to answer right away. "You do realize this is a whole new level of crazy, right?" he began at last, "I mean, even if you are you, you're not even yourself anymore."

Averting his gaze, Sam released a bitter chuckle. "I'm still myself," he corrected tiredly, "sans the humanity, granted, but I'm trying, all right?"

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Trying or coping?" he asked seriously, "We've been through a lot, but can't exactly relate to this. How _are_ you holding up?"

Inhaling deeply, Sam took a moment to formulate his thoughts. "Well, it's certainly...different," he admitted with a dry chuckle and shrugged, "Everything's way off, but altogether, I'm fine."

"More details, man," Dean demanded, "This isn't our everyday kind of weird. You gotta keep me posted so I actually know what's up for once."

"You want a list?" Sam asked incredulously.

Dean shrugged back as if it was obvious. "You want back in on the job, you name your strengths and weaknesses during the job interview."

Sam rolled his eyes, but humoured his brother at last. "You already know what I actually got done so far – hearing prayers, teleportation, claiming a vessel," he reported and halted briefly at the last part as if he meant to elaborate, "Some of my senses are duller now, but most of them have sharpened in some way." He chuckled dryly. "Hell, I can literally smell your sexual frustration."

Eyes narrowing, Dean stumbled back. "Now you're just grossing me out," he announced gruffly and got into the car at last.

Joining his brother on the passenger's seat, Sam could not help adding, "Now think about how Cas must've been able to perceive that the entire time."

That small innocent comment had Dean stall the engine. "Dude," he grumbled as he managed pulling out at last, "At least he has the decency not to mention it."

Tilting his head, Sam could not help agreeing. Then again, though, maybe Cas had not even had to be discreet consciously. What if there was some way to dim that over-active new perception, similar to how Sam had managed blocking at least some of the prayers?

Sighing, he turned his head to watch the landscape flying by. He sure had a lot to bother Cas with once they found him.

If they found him.

"Sam?" he heard Dean speaking up again and glanced over, "You remember that both Cas and Anna were basically human once they fell, right?"

Sam furrowed his brows. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you can for once just back out of this angel business when it gets too much," Dean said and shook his head, "Maybe you even should."

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. "I can't just chicken out, Dean," he informed his brother, "Right now I might as well be the only one who can even go to heaven and fix things."

Inhaling deeply, Dean hesitated for a moment. "Sometimes chickening out isn't that bad," he stated and grimaced, "A chicken can do without its wings, but not without its head." Inhaling deeply, he took a moment to contemplate his words. "Listen, I'm in no position to judge," he spoke at last, "If you're absolutely convinced this is the right thing to do, then I'll trust you with that. But we'd be stupid not to learn from our mistakes." He fixed his darkening gaze on the road in front of them, "So be extra careful, okay? Sooner or later, someone _will_ try to take advantage of you."

* * *

_A day later, with Kevin_

Yawning loudly, Kevin dragged his feet towards the kitchen.

As always, he had woken up exhausted yet unable to keep sleeping.

As always, he would open the fridge to find the peanut butter jar empty.

As always, he would start a dissatisfying day with a dissatisfying breakfast.

He vaguely recalled receiving a call from Dean last night, but even if the brothers chose to stop by, he doubted it would change much to his routine. Honestly, he was glad Sam had recovered, but in the end, they would just bring some fast food, drop some jokes and be back on their merry way – but not without reminding Kevin to keep working, mind you. After all, this was his life now – spending day after day staring at a tablet that did not want to be read.

Releasing a deep sigh, he grabbed the jam and turned back to the kitchen.

He nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Heya Kevin," Dean greeted him with a lazy wave of his hand and a piece of what might have been a cheese burger hanging out of his mouth as he strode into the room unannounced, "How ya doing?"

Steadying himself against the counter, the prophet took several deep breaths. "Aside from you giving me a heart attack and our supply on peanut butter completely wiped?" he asked testily.

"Sorry about that, man," Dean said sheepishly, "Seriously, though, how is it going?"

Sighing, Kevin resumed preparing his meal. "Progressing at least," he offered as he pulled several slices of toast out of the cupboard, "I found the spell that made the angels fall, but the fine print is even more illegile than the rest."

"You'll figure it out," Dean encouraged him with an amiable clap on the shoulder, "Good work so far, man."

After eyeing the hunter warily, Kevin resumed spreading jam on the bread. Dean sure seemed in a good mood today – for good reason, apparently. "What about you?" he asked and looked around the room, half-expecting the other part of the Siamese twins to appear any moment, "Sam doing okay?"

"Well, he's doing better than expected, considering..." Dean drawled, but trailed off.

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "Considering what?"

Tilting his head when an idea hit him, Dean stepped closer. "Alright, let's try this out," he spoke and dropped his voice as he raised his finger. "Sammy, can you hear me?" he asked no-one in particular, "This is a bit of an emergency, so if you could just, you know –"

A soft hustling accompanied by heavy breathing gave Kevin the second near-heart attack of the day just as Dean finished the sentence, "– get us some peanut butter?"

Standing on alert behind them with a shotgun drawn after appearing _out of freaking nowhere_, Sam needed several seconds to realize there was, in fact, no immediate danger. Finally, his glare found its rightful target. "Dean, are you fucking kidding me?"

Kevin, meanwhile, stumbled back against the cupboard. "Sam," he breathed, close to hyperventilation as the implications flooded his mind, "you're..."

As he met the prophet's eyes, the younger Winchester loosened his posture and forced a smile on his lips. "Kevin, it's good to see you," he greeted and resumed glaring at his brother, "I trust Dean filled you in on the details?"

Still staring at Sam in shock, Kevin mutely shook his head. "There was this fragment on the Demon Tablet that never quite made sense," he rambled, "it spoke of some kind of rising, but I figured it meant the Demon's soul would be risen from the pit." He gulped, looking Sam up and down again. "I never quite expected that, though," he admitted subduedly.

"Yeah, me neither," Sam chuckled as he finally secured the gun again. "What about you, you doing okay?" he asked in slight concern, "You need anything?"

He appreciated the offer, but as always, Kevin simply shrugged things off. And yet he could not help admitting, "Some company would be nice."

Sam's face fell with guilt. But it was Dean, still munching on on his cold burger, who answered, "Once we find Cas, we'll do a huge feast," he suggested with a grin, "That sound all right to you?" Once Kevin replied with a slow nod, he turned to his brother, "On that note, you found anything?"

Nodding, Sam met his brother's gaze. "Actually, I did. Remember when Cas went vengeful God on half the world?" he explained, "Apparently, some still recognize him even now. I found a blog about it from Indiana that was posted yesterday. I'd say that's our best bet."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "A blog?" he enquired incredulously, "That must've taken forever to find."

Sam simply shrugged. "I had all night."

And just like that, they left as soon as they had come, leaving Kevin once again to his own devices and his dissatisfying breakfast.

When he returned the jam to the fridge, however, he discovered something strange.

There was either a new jar of peanut butter smiling back at him...or a miraculously refilled one.

* * *

_Twelve hours later, with Castiel_

"It speaks of great magnanimity for you to share your meal with me in spite of your own ill-fed state," Castiel announced, still hesitant to accept the small yet _existent_ sandwich in his hands, and finally looked up to meet the eyes of his elderly benefactor, "You have my gratitude, sir." Suddenly confronted with how hungry his laughably human body truly was when faced with actual food, the former Angel wolfed down the entire sandwich within half a minute.

Smiling gently, the other homeless clapped Castiel on the shoulder. It was a gesture probably meant to encourage. "Don't sweat it, kid," he spoke, "We've all been there, but it gets easier once you're used to it."

Pondering those words, Castiel found himself distracted by an urgent sense of sleepiness joining in with his ever-present hunger. "I highly doubt the human existence can ever be considered easy," he replied honestly, more to himself than to the other man, and chose to distance himself from the assembly around the barrel. His demand of sleep had just exceeded his need for the warmth and light the fire provided.

Shuffling towards the remains of a bus he had earlier found to be hidden slightly from the passing traffic, Castiel could not help feeling pitiful once again.

He had been a proud warrior in God's Army once, yet even though he had never meant so, he had failed his Father far too often.

He deserved the punishment of being reduced to this. Walking and talking, he was alive per definition, yet he was so occupied balancing those countless human needs, he would be lucky to even be alive the next day even if there were no angels trying to track him down.

It was a miracle humanity had even gotten that far.

Sighing heavily, he pressed a folded blanket against the window and rested his head against it in a futile attempt to fall into a regenerative slumber that was still light enough for him to notice any immediate danger.

He dreamt of heaven, of sandwiches and of friends he dearly missed, angels and humans alike.

He dreamt of words, yells and screaming, spoken by angels and humans alike.

He deemed those dreams too realistic and forced himself awake just as the impact of something heavy shook the entire bus. As his eyes shot open, he was momentarily blinded by the sheer brightness that signalled one of his Brothers dying closeby.

He would have been concerned before, but his easily excited human heart had him panicking rather quickly. In spite of his efforts, he had been found.

Strangely, though, two opposing parties had done so at the same time.

"Cas!" he heard Dean's welcome, familiar bark echoing through the vehicle just as he himself was jumping out of his seat.

He could and he would not deny the sheer relief he felt at the sight of the Winchester brothers storming in. Both looked beaten from a battle they had thankfully won.

More importantly, however, they looked just as relieved as Castiel felt.

"Dean, Sam," he breathed in greeting and allowed himself to smile genuinely for the first time since his descent, "It is a good surprise to see you."

"Cas," Dean replied with a grimace of emotion as he pulled the former Angel into a hug, "Next time you're in danger, you give us a call, got that?"

"I was deceived and made yet another mistake," Castiel admitted quietly as he pulled away from the hug, "I feel...unworthy of your assis –"

"Bullshit, Cas," Dean cut him off with an angry glare, "I told you, you're family, man. We help each other out, and we're gonna get you back on your feet just right."

Again, Castiel could not keep his face from falling. As every so often, Dean held enough enthusiasm for all of them. "Thank you," the former angel croaked and looked away, "And yet I fear I cannot be of much use to you."

Dean furrowed his brows. "Just get a grip on yourself, man," he urged, "What happened to you?"

Yet Cas, still starting the empty seat in front of him, could not get himself to phrase it. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get back to the bunker, Cas," Sam offered softly, "I think we have a lot to sort out."

Blinking, Castiel found himself looking up at the younger yet so much taller Winchester and was confused to see understanding in those eyes.

"What the hell, guys," Dean complained and began gesticulating, "If you start with the telepathy thing behind my back_ in front me_, I sweat I'm gonna..."

But Sam hushed him with a mere look. "Cas doesn't feel like the other angels," he explained quietly, "I'm afraid he's lost his grace."

As he did not find himself able to face his dear friend's reaction, Castiel averted his eyes and was, once again, confused to find Sam squeezing his shoulder in what he assumed was meant as a reassuring gesture. "We'll figure this out," the younger Winchester promised quietly before removing his hand at last.

That motion, however, had Castiel's gaze travel to Sam's other hand.

His face betrayed none of it, but the hunter was clutching a wound in his upper arm very tightly.

"Once again, you got injured whilst fighting one of my battles," Castiel summarized with a humourless chuckle and sent the younger man a rueful look, "I cannot even make up for that any longer."

"About that," Sam began hesitantly and trailed off as he glanced towards his injury in poorly disguised horror.

"If it is any consolidation," Castiel offered quietly, "While Angel Blades can harm humans just as badly, they do not stain their very essence as they do on angels."

"Actually, that's about the least reassuring thing you could have said," Sam replied miserably and lifted his hand, revealing a deep cut on his upper arm that was barely bleeding but glowing brightly.

Castiel's eyes widened.

That was an angel's grace.

"Sam," he gasped, "how –" His eyes widened as he shrunk away from whom he had assumed to be a friend, "Who are you?"

Sam heaved a disheartened sigh, but it was Dean who replied. "He's the real deal, just... Sam Mark Two," he stated and tilted his head, "Apparently, the Trials got him a promotion, but the Boss is as absent as ever." Taking a breath, he took a step to face Castiel squarely. "To make a long story short, we need a renowned football star to coach little Sammy here."

Castiel blinked.

"It doesn't even matter if he's retired already," Dean added helpfully, "since he still knows everything in there." He tapped his head with his finger.

Castiel blinked again.

"I do not understand why you expect competitive sports to help Sam with this situation, Dean," he replied with a deep frown and shook his head, "Where would we find such a football player anyway?"

* * *

_A day later, with ~everybody~_

"Well, guys, here goes nothing."

Grinning like a madman, a heavily armed Dean appeared from the bunker's kitchen; He was holding a plate carrying the largest pile of burgers most of them had ever seen. "Prepare for the awesomeness that is Chief Dean's ultra special recipe of win."

As he was staring hungrily at the plate dropped right in front of him, Castiel still had the decency to reply with a nod of appreciation, "You went to great lengths to prepare this meal for us, Dean."

"Well, we've got a lot to celebrate, don't we?" Dean beamed brilliantly and sat down at the table, "I'm pretty sure none of us have had a decent meal in, like, forever, so..." He raised his arms in welcome. "Tuck in, everyone!"

"I've got to admit," Cas commented in between chews as he was wolfing down an entire burger in record time, "Being human has its perks." Swallowing down the remains of his first helping, he quickly reached for another. "These taste marvellous."

Sitting right next to the former angel, Sam hesitated for a long time before taking his first bite. Gagging slightly but forcing himself to swallow, he promptly dropped the burger's remains back onto the table.

Dean arched an eyebrow in disapproval, but Castiel, just finished with the second round, beat him to the comment. "You still want that?"

Sighing deeply, Sam shook his head and shoved the plate over. "I don't think I'm gonna eat anything for a while."

Dean seemed alerted for a moment, but he understood soon enough. "Thinking about going into the model business, are we?" he joked good-naturedly, "I hear Victoria's Secret's hiring new angels."

Confused, Cas paused eating to squint at his friend in question. "There is neither angel nor garrison by that name, Dean," he objected matter-of-factly, "Also, I see no reason for angels to bother with something fleeting as fashion, seeing that we do tend to wear the same clothes for centuries at a time."

As Dean stifled a laugh, Kevin chose to put Cas out of his misery. "He was talking about a brand for women's lingerie," he explained patiently, "They tend to dress up their models as angels."

The frown on Cas's face grew lighter, but it was far from gone. "I understand," he drawled and met Sam's gaze sceptically, "But why would you wear women's lingerie?"

Sighing softly, Sam leant back in his chair. "I wouldn't," he replied firmly and caught a glance at his brother, "I guess Dean's projecting his own wishes on me again."

Week Three - End

* * *

Notes: So much for today, thank you for reading - and please leave a review (or any life sign at all, as usual xD)!


	6. Weeks Four to Seven

_Notes:_ Seriously, I have no idea how that last month passed without me updating this story at all. Of course, there's still three major building sites towards the end that need a lot of fixing and it doesn't help that I'm basically tired all the time nowadays, but rest assured at least in that respect: I haven't forgotten this story, and it will be finished in due time.

I'm always asking you guys for life signs, and I'm really happy to receive so much good feedback! On that note, lots of love to KCS, expectoligamentumarteriosum, detectivetimehunter and Guest-kun for their encouraging reviews! You guys have no idea how easily some simple words can save a day :3

Sooo, in return, here's a bit of a life sign from me - time to get this rolling again!

Last time, we recruited Cas to teach Sam some featherfolk tricks, so now, let's see where that is going, shall we? :)

* * *

**WEEKS FOUR TO SEVEN**

"When I was still only a child of ninety years, I would take a night off every month to answer the prayers of humans in need."

To the ears of a human who was trying hard to live up to his sudden angelic vocation, Sam found Castiel's anecdote disconcerting in several aspects. Then again, he could not help appreciating the fondness in the former angel's voice, either.

"Clearly, my mission was another but to meddle with humanity's everyday affairs," Castiel elaborated, indulging in nostalgia, "However, I always knew God would want me to support his children. Doing so rather than just contemplating the possibilities filled me with a sense of accomplishment."

Chuckling softly, Sam could not help cherishing this brief insight in Castiel's very nature.

They might have already been friends before, but their switched roles as human and Angel - the Freaky Friday, as Dean called it - had enabled both of them to relate to each other on a whole new level. Sam had hoped, and was not disappointed, to find a mentor in Castiel. On the other hand though, it felt strangely rewarding to be able to offer some of his own experiences in return.

As a matter of fact, this was how the current nightly meeting of theirs had come into being in the first place. Knowing Sam would most likely be sitting in the bunker's study researching anyway, Castiel had sought him out when he had found himself unable to fall asleep at night.

"Well, you can either take some pills," Sam had offered simply, "Or you can talk off your mind whatever's bothering you. I'm right here."

Castiel had hesitated for a moment and pondered for another before coming up with an answer. "Condensed to one sentence," he had stated with a deep frown, "it is most likely my need of sleep that is making me wary of it in the first place."

Sam had laughed at that. "Is the concept that strange to you?" he had asked, "Both mental and physical relaxation do help you coping with reality, after all."

"But it demands an enormous amount of time," Castiel had countered with a light frown, "Do you realize humans spend a third of their ridiculously short lives sleeping?"

"I guess we - you - whatever, just never knew it any other way," Sam had replied simply, "What did you usually do during night time, anyway?"

"As Heaven is eternal, we do not generally differentiate between night and daytime," Castiel had replied, "Down here on Earth, however, there is much that can be done. I, for one, enjoyed offering help to those who prayed for it." Which brought them back to the story of the former angel's childhood adventures.

"I've been wanting to answer many of those prayers I'm suddenly hearing," Sam admitted quietly and looked at his hands, "But I still don't quite trust myself to heal people properly - or to use that mojo without blowing something up accidentally." Sighing deeply, he rested his chin on his hands.

"By this point, you have gained all the knowledge you need," Castiel offered in response. "There is only so much I can teach you in words and gestures. You will have to trust your recently added instincts at some point, especially if you still intend to reopen Heaven." He halted for a moment, furrowing his brows. "If you wish, though, I can still provide assistance to you by means of... moral support."

Their eyes locked for a long moment before Sam smiled at last. "I'd really appreciate your help, Cas."

"We can start with the practical lessons right now," the former angel suggested, "I do not feel sleepy anymore."

Sam arched an eyebrow. "Now?" he asked incredulously, but put the book he had been reading aside. "You're wearing pajamas," he pointed out with a small smile.

"They are very comfortable," Castiel agreed with a nod. "So do you hear any prayers of enhanced relevance?"

Concentrating, Sam recalled his friend's instructions on controlling the volume settings on angel radio, which he had previously muted for the sake of fruitful research. As it was to be expected and as Castiel had confirmed in great length some days ago, the most prominent connections and prayers were those of either personal or general interest to him. Before long, Sam made out a single request that outdroned the others.

_"Please save her. I did not survive Afghanistan to watch her die on me, so even if it takes a miracle, I can't lose her. I just can't."_

Confused for a moment, Sam recognized the voice at last. When an all too familiar fear gripped his heart tightly, he could not help gasping.

"What is it?" Castiel prompted.

Sam stared at his friend, his eyes wide and lost. "Amelia's dying."

* * *

"Come on, Ames."

Holding his wife's hand tightly, Don lowered his head. He was sitting at her bedside, just as he had been doing for the past ten hours.

As he would be doing for the next ten hours.

But chances were, he would not need to much longer.

The doctors gave her until the early morning. Only four more hours.

Inhaling deeply, he rested his forehead against the back of her hand.

If she even regained consciousness, if he could see her beautiful smile at least one last time, he would count himself lucky.

But chances were...

"What happened?"

Inhaling sharply, Don shot up from his seat, letting go of her hand as he caught sight of a ghost from the past. "You", he whispered in utter confusion as he stepped between his wife and the reason he had nearly lost her the first time around, "What are you doing here?"

Trying to keep his face blank, Sam Winchester tore his gaze off Amelia's bandaged figure and met Don's eyes. "I heard your call," he explained curtly and stepped around the bed, blatantly ignoring Don's disheartened attempt to block him as he repeated his question, "What happened?"

Breathing heavily, Don sank back onto the chair. With the tension between them still as palpable as ever, he anything but welcomed Sam's sudden appearance, especially since it meant the man was surveying them to some degree. But, honestly, Don was too tired to even care about that.

At least, Sam still cared much for Amelia, and as much as Don hated admitting it, she had never stopped feeling something in return, either.

So even if Sam was, quite obviously, seething underneath the professional facade, so even if Don would have preferred to never see the other guy again, it all came down to Amelia, and she deserved to be around the ones she loved during her last moments. As such, the soldier finally realized that fighting would do none of them any good. "It was a car accident," he explained quietly as he leant over to brush some strands of hair out of her face, "We were going on a trip for our anniversary, but then..." He trailed off when his voice broke at the memory.

He heard Sam sigh deeply, but he did not have it in him to look up. "I know what you're gonna say," he chuckled bitterly, "That you left her in my care and I messed up. That she wouldn't be dying if she'd chosen you." Somewhere along the line, his disheartened chuckles had turned into sobs. And he did not even care.

Suddenly, though, he found his giant of a rival standing right in front of him. "You know what?" Sam ground out bitterly as he pulled a startled Don up by the collar. "If she'd stayed with me, she would've died much sooner." His face darkened. "But that doesn't mean she isn't your responsibility," he finished through gritted teeth and shoved Don back onto the chair...before knocking him out cold.

But not cold enough for him not to vaguely hear a new voice in the room.

"_Sam, I do realize you are harbouring pent-up aggressions towards him, but don't you think that man is already broken enough?"_

"_Don't lecture me, Cas, I need to be able to concentrate and you know that."_

"_So you did not incapacitate him because he got to enjoy the life you always craved and almost had?"_

"_...you really need to learn when to shut your mouth."_

"_Refining my 'social skills' might prove useful, yes. Will you teach me about that, too?"_

"_...I just did."_

With his consciousness fading quickly, Don did not hear the rest of the conversation.

When he came to an hour later, however, he quickly forgot about it anyway.

It was his wife shaking him awake gently, and by what could only be a miracle she was _perfectly fine_.

* * *

"So," Dean greeted them as he joined the gang at the breakfast table and sent his brother a pointed look, "Are you going to tell me about your nightly adventure?"

Sam blinked back innocently, "I beg your pardon?"

Sighing, Dean flung himself into his customary chair. "When I was up at four A.M., I found you napping on the couch," he explained and arched an eyebrow, "Now tell me that wasn't because you've used up shitloads of mojo." When Sam frowned back, speechless yet obviously guilty, Dean heaved another sigh. "Listen man, I can't tell you what to do, and honestly, I would be surprised if you wouldn't spend all that additional time working somehow," he began and paused dramatically, "But if you insist on going out on your own, at least tell us. We've been down that road often enough. Once shit comes down, it comes down ten times as hard if we can't even find you."

After shrinking away several inches under Dean's speech, Sam eventually ran a hand through his hair. "Dude, no job," he began, apparently still quite groggy, "It was just a prayer."

Dean's frown deepened.

"Sam healed a human tonight, Dean," Castiel supplied, not without a hint of pride in his voice, "He wasted an incredible amount of spiritual energy in doing that, mind you, but he did perform much better than I would ever have expected of a human in his position."

"No need for encouragement, Cas," Sam grumbled unhappily.

Dean, meanwhile, was dumbstruck. "You..." he began, but realized he did not even know what to say.

"I can make a difference for once," Sam stated, and Dean's heart fell at the sight of his brother's poorly disguised despair, "What is this stupid angel affair good for if not that?"

Sighing softly, Dean had not other choice but to give in. "Just tell us, alright? And don't you dare hunting in your own" he warned and grabbed a sandwich from Cas' plate as he was already at it, "I'm dying to get some action."

_ - Weeks four to seven: end -_

* * *

_Notes:_ And with that it just so happened that Sam discovered a whole branch of side quests to keep himself distracted with while avoiding the actual battle, huh?

In case you're wondering whether Amelia will reappear here - as of now, she won't (mostly because most people I know don't like her anyway), but I still think Sam would have deserved some kind of happy life similar to what he had with her.

Oh well, now he has his funny crew of bunker mates, which is something too, I guess 8'D

Next time, we'll finally get some plot development. Until then, thanks a lot for reading, and stay tuned!


End file.
